


The Suffering Of Soul Can Find Salvation

by Nopholom



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: Request Fill: The au where Billy dies and Goodnight lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> original request is here: http://bit.ly/2ehalEX  
> While not directly requested of ME, I would like to point out that I am happy to take requests over on my tumblr (http://nopholom.tumblr.com/) and I have anonymous enabled, so hit ya boy here up.
> 
> Most of my titles come from really sad Country music and I will not apologise for that.

Returning to Rose Creek was hard, he knew he deserved to be there, that conquering his own fears and taking aim at the Gatling gun’s operators from the high ground meant he had earned a place in their celebrations and their stories, but he was _scared_. Scared of what people would say, the bodies he would see, the way Billy would look at him, ‘ _you left me_ ’ in his dark eyes as he regarded Goody with something akin to disgust and pity, “I came back though…” he whispered to himself as his horse grazed idly beneath him, “I came back…” he said it with more resolve this time, Billy would forgive him, he’d done worse he was sure of it, and besides, he fought, that would be enough.

With a nervous fire in his belly he urged his horse on, the steady vibration of the horse’s movement was enough to mask the tremor in his hands, to make him feel almost normal as he returned to a battlefield he had tried so hard not to be a part of.

People looked at him as he rode in and he turned his gaze down, too ashamed to see their judgement, faces encroached on his vision regardless, a young woman approached and touched his hand,

“Thank you,” she said with teary eyes, more followed and he brought his eyes up to meet them, watching in confusion as people injured and scared looked at him in awe and gratitude. He nodded cordially and a smile crept onto his features, the praise felt good, his heart felt a little lighter and his shame started to eke away.

He saw Sam Chisholm ahead with Faraday, tossing Bogue’s corpse onto a cart ready to be dumped in a collective grave with the rest of the dead man’s army,

“As I live and breathe,” Sam called out, laughing as Goody approached,

“Nice shooting,” Faraday shouted, just in case anyone doubted Goodnight’s involvement in the battle,

“Nice throw,” Goody nodded as he looked to Faraday, the man had a good arm for tossing dynamite it seemed, “So we won,” he stated dumbly, looking around, searching the thin throng of people for more familiar faces, he spotted Vasquez talking to Red Harvest, and Jack Horne seemed to be with his new sweetheart getting an arrow pulled out of his leg.

“We sure did, I don’t think we’d have made it if they’d loaded that Gatling gun any quicker,” Sam was thanking him, acknowledging him as a vital part of the assault and Goody felt sick from the ill placed gratitude,

“Sure you would have,” he dismissed with a gesture, “Where’s Billy?” he asked abruptly, he’d not seen him but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, “Son of a bitch has something of mine,” he’d realised it from his perch in the Cliffside, intending to take a swig to still his shaking hands and finding a silver hair pin in his pocket instead.

“I’ve not seen him,” Sam frowned, then a man turned to them,

“He went up into the steeple,” the man said nervously, uncertain about talking directly to them, “I tossed him his rifle,” Goody looked up at the steeple then, the breath leaving his lungs as his eyes caught on each and every bullet hole that trailed up the side of the building.

 

He didn’t even remember dismounting his horse or running to the church, but he was scaling a wall and racing up a flight of stairs as fast as he could, dropping to his knees the moment the mid-day sun hit him. The tremors rocked him like an earth quake as he crawled forward, reaching out and touching a knee, shaking it to no avail; he drew himself forward and ran his hands over deep red stains on the fabric of his clothes, trying feebly to quell the bleeding that had long since stopped. He pressed his fingers into skin then, hoping beyond all hope that the pain it caused would contort Billy’s face and he’d wake up; he didn’t. Billy just sat there, slumped and broken, an oddly peaceful look on his face as he stared through Goody and at the flask on the floor.

“Billy?” he breathed, “Billy?” higher pitched this time as his voice cracked, “Billy wake up,” he tried again, easing himself into the space between Billy’s legs and cupping his face, lightly slapping the clammy skin, “C’mon Billy wake up,” he pleaded, “I came back Billy, I came back,” he tried hopefully, turning Billy’s glassy stare to his face, searching them for some sign of life and finding none. “Billy…” he coaxed again, pressing his forehead to Billy’s and closing his eyes, hoping that somehow this would bring him round, that he’d slap Goody on the back and tell him it’s just a dream. He didn’t, and his skin was still warm against Goody’s, a sharp reminder that he’d been too late, that he’d failed the one he loved, but he might not have if he’d acted sooner, if he’d not been such a goddamned coward.

“Goody? Billy? You boys decent?” Faraday poked up through the hole in the floor, his bright smile fading into a rare look of shock and grief as Goody looked at him with watery blue eyes, “Oh no… no…” Faraday whispered, shaking his head as he took in the scene before him, “Is he…?” he trailed off, unable to finish. Goody nodded and turned his attention back to Billy, Billy’s _corpse_ , tears slipping down his cheeks as he lifted a shaky hand to close Billy’s eyes, kissing his forehead and then his lips lightly, a chaste apologetic touch that tasted like tears.

He moved to sit beside Billy as Faraday left, drawing him in and cradling him to his chest, stroking a hand through his sweat damp hair the way Billy had done for him during his night terrors, comforting a dead man and rocking back and forth slightly as he wept silently. He was still like that when Faraday returned with Sam in tow, his old friend touching his shoulder as he crouched before them,

“Goody, you need to let him go,” he whispered and Goody held tighter, daring Sam to try and take Billy away from him with a dangerous look. “I understand Goody, but he needs to come down from here, you both do,” he insisted, “You’re gonna catch your d… a chill…” he hesitated and corrected himself, gesturing to the sky which had darkened considerably since Goody had returned to the town. How long had he been up here? Long enough for Billy to go cold in his arms he realised.

“No…” he said flatly, “I can’t,” his voice was barely a whisper as he said it, “I _can’t_ ,” he repeated and Sam nodded understanding, moving to Goody’s other side and sitting beside him, nodding to Faraday when the man pointed silently down, his cue to leave them in peace.

 

Time was lost on Goody, a construct he couldn’t quite fathom anymore, but he knew a lot of it had passed before he spoke again,

“It’s my fault…” he admitted, “I did this,” he whispered, broken,

“Looks like a Gatling gun did this if you ask me,” Sam answered softly, trying not to chastise but to treat Goody how he always had,

“I warned him…” he hissed, “I warned you too,” he pressed his nose to Billy’s now soft, dry hair and inhaled deeply, he still smelled the same, but the warmth that Billy usually gave off was gone, the only heat he held he had leeched from Goody’s embrace.

“Nothing you did could have changed this Goody,” Sam explained,

“Billy died because of _me_ ,” Goody spat, “Because of _me_ and don’t you ever try to say otherwise,” his voice was hoarse, “I did this… this… this is judgement,”

“Goody you’re not to blame for this, nothing you’ve done brought this to pass,”

“It’s the owls Sam, _the owls_ , they’ve been after me for years… for the things I’ve done, the men I’ve killed,” he whispered, repeating things Sam had heard a long time ago, “They warned me they were coming and I…” he closed his eyes, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks, “God _I let this happen_ ,” he held Billy tighter, knew it was futile to keep holding on but he hated himself for letting Billy go in the first place, should have stayed when he asked, they should have died up here _together_. His limbs sagged and he felt Billy’s weight shift as his grasp no longer kept the man pressed close to him, Sam was up then, holding Goody’s wrists and drawing him shakily to his feet, pulling him into a tight embrace and just letting him sob hoarsely into his shoulder.

Goody felt Sam gesture and knew they were coming for him, saw as Vasquez and Red ascended the ladder with a bundle of cloth between them, morose and apologetic as they wrapped Billy up and lowered him down into the church. Goody wilted against Sam, clinging to him to keep him upright as he saw Billy’s impassive expression disappear behind dun fabric, Sam just held him, let him mourn until the sun caressed Rose Creek and warmed their chilly bones.

 

He felt hollow at the funeral, had placed his ruined flask inside Billy’s casket and touched his face one last time, committing it to memory before watching the lid fall shut, and now he stood by the open grave, his best friend, lover, _soulmate_ rested at the bottom of a hole, a hole he himself belonged in.

“I should be there…” he whispered to nobody in particular, but misfortune placed Faraday at his side that day,

“You’re not dead yet Goodnight,” Faraday joked though he didn’t sound half as confident, pain etched his words where humour did not,

“Oh but I _am_ ,” he admitted, he had realised it when the nails were driven into the coffin, when he was sealed off from the best part of himself, cut away like rotting flesh, only they’d left the rot and taken his good arm instead.

He had realised because the world had fallen eerily silent, his head had cleared, and the plague he called his memories had lost their weight; he felt almost at peace with himself, like he had paid his dues and finally chased the owls away.

The owls were finally sated, and Billy had been their price.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I keep writing angsty stuff I swear I have happier fics lined up but you're probably never going to see them, whoops.
> 
> Also it's probably bad the amount of crying I make these guys do...


End file.
